Hrule Hunt
by Sanaryelle
Summary: Three hundred years before Nick and Lirael face the Hrule, an Abhorsen tracks down the creature and learns a disturbing secret about his brother, the previous Abhorsen.


_A/N: In "Nicholas Sayre and the Creature in the Case", Nick faces the Hrule and defeats it with help from Lirael. It is revealed that the Hrule has been buried in Ancelstierre for at least three hundred years, and was found ten miles south of the Wall wrapped in three chains. The locals wanted to drag it back to the Wall, but the government had it shipped south. Idiots. I was inspired by this background information to write about the original binding of the Hrule._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ancelstierre, the Old Kingdom, or anything within – that all belongs to Garth Nix. As usual, only the names of the characters are mine._

**Hrule Hunt**

It was winter on both sides of the wall. Here in Ancelstierre the sky was clear and cold, and the frost crunched cheerfully under Natael's boots and his walking-stick. Only two hours ago he had left a raging Kingdom blizzard behind him. It was much pleasanter to walk under the sun for a change, and Natael allowed himself to enjoy the light, knowing that soon enough he would be heading back north and home again.

He had been tracking the Hrule for some time now, and it was more of his abominable luck that it had reached the Wall before him. It had decimated one of the more remote gatehouses, leaving behind scattered pieces of a patrol of Royal guards. Their blood had no doubt given the creature the necessary strength to cross the Wall. Natael had time only to perform the final rites on what was left of the corpses before hurrying on.

As far as Natael knew, nobody living had ever defeated a Hrule. When this hunt began, he had been forced to acknowledge his colossal ignorance in this area, and underwent a lengthy subterranean existence in the Great Library of the Clayr. Many a frustrating day had been spent poring through bestiaries, cross-referencing many obscure texts, reviewing his notes, and asking help of Sendings and Librarians – and indeed any poor soul who passed by.

When the time came that he was finally prepared, that he knew what signs to look for, he had tracked the Hrule across the Kingdom, and now into Ancelstierre. Telling by the still-warm chunks of Royal guard he had found just after dawn, it was not too far away. If he could just locate the infernal creature and do the thing with the thistle, with a bit of luck he could be done in time to grab lunch at the nearest village. Of course, Natael's luck had never been good.

Maybe that would change, though…

Natael shielded his eyes, and one corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. There it was, near those holly bushes! There was no mistaking that strange violet form, even at this distance. And a mere ten miles south of the Wall, too. Although those poor guards would have refreshed it somewhat, the creature must be very weak now. It hadn't drunk from any of the Charter bloodlines since killing his brother.

He reached inside his pack and carefully drew out a long chain of braided daisies. Natael looked down at the wilted, pathetic thing that he had been carrying about with him in disbelief. The only reason why it hadn't fallen apart was because of a few simple Charter spells.

Not for the first time he wondered if the author of the book had really been telling the truth as to how to go about binding a Hrule. Maybe it was some sort of joke. He could just picture a batty old Clayr scholar rubbing her hands together in sadistic mirth as she wrote out the false instructions: "Throw a daisy chain over its head!" the imaginary Clayr scholar cackled, recording the fictitious advice with a theatrical flourish of her pen. "And stab it with a thistle!" she added, pounding the desk and hooting with manic glee.

Natael tried to ignore these discouraging visions. "Nagy, you wizened old crone," he muttered fiercely under his breath. "If this doesn't work and I end up being this monster's last meal, I swear to you that I'll make your Death a living torment!"

With the oath made Natael felt slightly comforted. He took a deep breath and stepped slowly closer. One hand grasped the walking-stick, and the other the daisy chain – he knew which object he would rather place his faith in. In a pinch, the walking-stick could become a handy quarterstaff. But in this case he had no choice.

The Hrule was turned away from him, but that made its appearance all the more monstrous, with those hoofed back-jointed legs. It was bending over something, with those long clublike arms braced to either side of the thin body. Natael held his breath as he walked up slowly, wincing at the loudness of the crunching frost beneath his feet, but the Hrule did not appear to notice him. Or perhaps it had, but was not overly-concerned. Soon he was only a few armspans away, his eyes roving over the rough violet hide. He swallowed to get some moisture into his suddenly-dry throat.

"Hey!"

The creature straightened up and turned half-around, and Natael took an involuntary step back. It was a lot taller now – over eight feet in height – and blood was dripping from its pointed black teeth. Beyond the creature Natael could see the body of a woman sprawled on the ground, her head completely crushed by a blow from those barbed club arms. A straw basket containing sprigs of holly lay some distance beyond her.

The Hrule grinned, mouth stretching to twice the width of a human's, and the pupils of the enormous black eyes shone like violet sparks. It took a step towards him. With a mixture of a prayer and a curse, Natael drew back his arm and threw the daisy chain over the thing's head. It slid down the long neck to lie about the creature's shoulders like a flimsy yellow necklace.

It stopped, and Natael watched warily, his grip tightening on his quarterstaff. He half-expected the creature to rip the ridiculous daisy chain away, and was already thinking up blocking techniques and counter-attacks. "The day's eye bids me make truce," said a cold voice inside his head – a female voice. "So let us talk."

As she spoke, Natael could feel the Hrule's influence upon his mind. Something was urging him to forget his anger against this creature, and to forget his brother's death. But he couldn't do that. "I come seeking vengeance," he answered firmly, wondering at his good luck. That Nagy had been right, so far. "I do not want to talk." He reached into his pack, determined to carry out the instructions to the letter.

"I met your brother," said the Hrule. "I knew him."

Natael paused, the lead chain dangling from his hand like a prisoner's fetters. "I know you killed him," he said guardedly.

"I knew him much better than that, Astarael's get," the cold voice said. She sounded sly, and Natael watched as her long tongue licked the blood from her lips and chin with gruesome delicacy. "I knew him since he was a mere child."

"That's impossible," Natael said with a disbelieving laugh. "Nochiel would never –"

"You did not know your brother as well as you think. Even twins keep secrets from one another." Seeing that he was listening now, she continued. "I came to his dreams when he was a boy. He saw me as a deity, a truer queen than the one sitting on the Kingdom's throne, weak inheritor of my kin that she is. Do you see it now?"

And indeed Natael did see it, suddenly. She looked almost beautiful. Too beautiful to be bound by anything as silly as a chain of yellow daisies. He had the Abhorsen's sword, he could just draw his blade and cut it off…

"Stop that!" he bellowed, coming to his senses. Convulsively he gripped the lead chain that had nearly slipped from his nerveless fingers. "This is not about me. This is about my brother."

The Hrule inclined her head slightly. "As you wish. I spoke to your brother in his dreams, and when old enough I summoned him. He found me under the earth, and restored me with his blood. I was weak then, very weak, and I allowed him to live so that he could return every now and then, and let me drink once more… He was a most faithful servant."

Natael raised a sceptical eyebrow, but he could not help thinking that this explained his brother's frequent long absences. An uncomfortable twisting feeling of guilt had settled deep in his stomach.

"Nochiel opened his heart to me," the cold voice continued in a sibilant hiss. "He spoke of the fierce competition between two brothers, both Abhorsens-in-Waiting, each hoping to be chosen as the successor. He spoke of how upset you were, Natael, when you were denied the office." The Hrule's arms scraped deep gouges in the earth. "It is strange, is it not, that a parent can pick a favourite among twins."

The burst of anger Natael felt at this pushed him to act, and he savagely flung the lead chain over the Hrule's head. He gave a triumphant grin as it scraped over her violet hide, creating showers of white sparks that hissed when they hit the frost-rimed ground. She had doubtless been hoping that her words would cause him to turn his anger against himself, and therefore make his mind weaker and subject to her influence. Indeed, Nochiel had been that way, always internalizing his feelings. But Natael was different.

"He also spoke of Larin!" The desperation in the creature's voice was unmistakeable, but Natael couldn't help pausing again. He slowly took from his pack a silver chain, which had been a gift from the Queen for this very purpose, and let it hang at his side. He flexed his fingers and the heavy links jingled together like coins. The creature's eyes darted to the chain, and the violet pupils seemed to burn even more brightly.

"What do you know about Larin?" he asked, his voice shaking despite his struggle for composure. He had to know.

The Hrule's mouth stretched into another one of those ghastly smiles. "I do not think that Larin ever knew how much he really loved her."

This remark shocked Natael, who had long convinced himself that nothing in this world would surprise him anymore. He had hardened himself to nature's ruthlessness and the cruel twists of fate by maintaining a sense of irony and a bitter humour. It failed him now.

"Nochiel was not a man who made his feelings known, but he did love her deeply." She laughed, a hard cruel sound in his head that made him wince. "He had no idea that his own brother was warming his wife's bed in his absence."

Natael felt the blood rising in his pale cheeks and heating his ears. He was ashamed, although he knew he shouldn't be. He could only assume that the Hrule had plucked that particular bit of information from his own mind, and he did not like it. Wearing the lead chain, according to Nagy, the Hrule could not manipulate his thoughts so easily. But she was adept with her words, and they stung.

"We believed that he was seeing another woman," said Natael through gritted teeth, fighting for control. "We had always been close. My wife was dead, and Larin felt abandoned, so we comforted each other." He gave a strained laugh. "Now I know that he was only visiting you. Not precisely another woman, but close enough. With levies of blood in place of money, you are a most demanding mistress."

The Hrule laughed again. It was strange, the two of them smiling over such a thing.

"Tell me," said the creature, tilting her head to the side in a disturbingly human manner. "How old are you, Natael? Thirty? Thirty-five? Human age is difficult to judge, with your lives being so swift."

"Why do you ask?"

She leaned forward until they were eye-to-eye. Natael did not appreciate the sight. "You are not an able Abhorsen, having come late into your office so long after your training. You lack the confidence to wield sword or bell against me, preferring a stick of wood! Already you are past your prime, and soon you must choose a successor among the children to become a proper Abhorsen. Nochiel's daughter, young Humatiel, is the better of the two."

Natael cocked his head to the side. "Oh?" he asked with mock levity. "And why do you think that? Because Nochiel told you? You know he is biased, as a parent."

The Hrule overlooked his flippant tone, luckily for him. "Because she can understand darkness. Your son Tibrael is an idealist, a great failing in an Abhorsen. You know this."

"And what is your point?" Natael demanded, allowing his testiness to show through. Did he not have the advantage?

"Humatiel will be your successor. After a lifetime of rivalry and bitter hatred, it is your brother who will father the remainder of the line, not you." The Hrule's voice was gloating. "All of your pitiful efforts to outshine him have come to naught!"

Through his humiliated anger, Natael felt his head become a little clearer. Nochiel would have been outraged and mortified at the slur against his family, and thus successfully distracted. Although the words were hurtful, all the more so because they were true, Natael could dismiss them because they were just that – words. The Hrule's fluency in manipulating his brother, and her assumption that identical twins possessed similar minds, had made her over-confident. He took a deep breath.

"It is true that I hated Nochiel," he admitted. "He was always the better son, and I was never good enough. I hated him for ruining my life when he inherited the bells, and for ruining Larin's when he abandoned her. Yes, I hated him more than anyone in the world." He gave a wry smile. "But I loved him as well. Now isn't that the strangest thing of all?"

And he threw the silver chain over the Hrule's head.

She shrieked and lashed out with a clublike arm, and one of the inch-long barbs hooked into his side. Natael stumbled to the ground and rolled away to avoid another colossal blow, feeling the earth tremble underneath him. He struggled along the frozen ground to his fallen quarterstaff, simultaneously reaching into his pack to pull out a thistle. With a quick Charter spell he fastened it to the top of the staff.

"Nagy, I hope for both our sakes that this works," he muttered, and got painfully to his feet.

The Hrule's violet gaze settled on the thistle-topped staff, and she let out a hiss of anger. "I have drunk from the Clayr and the Royal line! I have tasted the blood of your ancestors," she shrieked, her desperation growing. "When Nochiel showed signs of wanting to leave me I drained him dry. I cannot be killed, not by metal or stone! I will triumph over your weak and diluted line yet!"

Natael gave a scornful laugh. "Save your dramatics," he said. "Charter willing, an Abhorsen will always be here to bury you deep in the ground – where you belong." He stabbed her with the thistle, flinching and releasing the improvised spear when she shrieked painfully inside his head. The wooden staff quivered for a moment then burst into dust, causing the creature to melt away into the hard and frosted earth.

With a groan Natael fell to his knees. He glanced at his wounded side before deciding he would rather not look at it, and crawled to the body of the woman the Hrule had been feeding on. There was nothing he could do for her, either. Death, death, and more death. All a part of his work now. On the bright side, here in Ancelstierre it was unlikely that a necromancer or a Free Magic sorcerer would summon the Hrule. And his brother's death had finally been avenged.

Natael lay on his back. He occupied himself with inventing scenarios for telling Larin what he had learned, but each seemed worse than the last.

Faint voices brought him out of his thoughts, and he shaded his eyes to see a small group of people running towards him. They wore rough clothes, like the dead woman at his side. Perhaps they had left their village to search for her. He smiled faintly as he sat up: he would get some lunch after all.

"Sir!"

"We saw you fight that creature –"

"It's the Abhorsen!"

"– great big purple thing, wasn't it?"

"Are you all right?"

They were crouched around him with concerned expressions, and he summoned up a grin. "Fine. I'm just fine. Oh, don't mind that," he said, noticing them staring at his blood-stained side. "It'll heal. I don't suppose you'll be reassured if I tell you I've had worse." His smile faded. "I am sorry I couldn't save the girl."

"Well, you did what you could, sir. Eilesa would've been glad you prevented others from suffering her sorry fate." The speaker looked at him cautiously. "Abhorsen, sir, are you sure that you're –"

"Fine? Certainly. I should be glad that I'm bleeding, really. If the Hrule had won, she would have drained every drop of blood from my body." He noticed the revolted looks on their faces, and changed the subject. "Tell me, do you lot live nearby? Would you be willing to do me a favour?" The villagers nodded, still looking apprehensive. "Some time from now that creature's body may be found. Please try to see that it's left undisturbed."

"Of course. But – if you don't mind me saying, sir – that looks like a right nasty wound you got there. Doesn't matter if you've had one afore or no. You could come back with us and –"

"Oh, don't bother with this silly scratch. But I wouldn't say no to some lunch." He smiled at the incredulous looks on their faces. They were staring at him as though they expected him to drop dead at any moment, although he couldn't imagine why. He felt quite good, actually. He had been the first person in over a hundred years to defeat a Hrule, and he had avenged his brother's death. Yes, there was a bit of dizziness – from the blood loss, he imagined – but certainly nothing to be alarmed about.

With a reassuring smile for the villagers, he pushed himself to his feet. And everything went black.

_A/N: Natael is an unusual man, probably one of the more complicated Abhorsens I've come up with. However, his comparative disregard for his own health, as shown in the closing scene, seems to be somewhat typical of his bloodline. I hope you enjoyed the read, and my take on the Hrule's original binding. Reviews are much appreciated; I love hearing your opinions!_


End file.
